Song of The South
by turbomagnus
Summary: A collection of shorts, drabbles and snippets for Hetalia, all featuring in some way the Confederate States of America. Exact situations and other characters may vary.
1. To Father

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. Whether or not that goal can be reached, we'll see... This is The 365 Project, 17 February.

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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><p>-o0o-<p>

"To Father"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0o-

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><p>There's a lot of things people forget, the old because of time, the young because they're not taught it, but Nations remember. We carry the scars of our darkest days and the memories of our greatest triumphs. People see memorials and monuments, we see reminders of people that we knew and that knew us, of battles fought and of blood shed. Too much blood, sometimes, but sometimes that's how it is.<p>

Too much blood shed between brothers...

We don't talk much any more; he refuses to listen, claiming that since I lost our fight I don't count as a Nation anymore, and I won't back down from the simple fact that my people believe in me, their loyalty to my symbols and borders and to my reasons for being still stands and as long as it does, it doesn't matter how many fights I lose, I'll stand up for what I, what they, what _we_ believe in; the rights of the people and of the states. I'll stand even firmer for those rights since that brother of mine is becoming more and more enticed by the idea of 'the rights of the federal government'.

We were founded on the same ideals, the same concept of the right to self-rule... our Founding Fathers never wanted this, our father never wanted this. _Our_ father because George Washington was as much my father as he was that of the United States, he pledged his life, his fortune and his Sacred Honor to the cause of liberty, to fight against tyranny, not just of Americans by the English but of Americans by Americans as well. That's why he supported so strongly a Constitutional Republic for a government, to keep government power in the hands of the people through their representatives. He never believed in these 'career politicians' like we've got now, he never did. Simply, Father believed in the ideal of the federal government being answerable to the states and those to the people, the same ideal that I was born under when the United States began to waver from it.

Everyone remembers that Robert E. Lee said "I shall never bear arms against the Union, but it may be necessary for me to carry a musket in the defense of my native state, Virginia, in which case I shall not prove recreant to my duty", but they keep forgetting that Father was a Virginian too; stepfather to the grandfather of Robert E. Lee's wife Mary, in fact; and so as much a Southerner as anyone who wore the grey during the time my brother and I fought. Even if he died long before I came into being, he's still my Father. So while that brother of mine keeps calling today 'Presidents' Day', trying to honor people some of whom just don't deserve it, I know what I plan to celebrate in a few days...

Because the twenty-second is George Washington's Birthday.


	2. Pack It In

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. Whether or not that goal can be reached, we'll see... This is The 365 Project, 26 February.

I'm surprised no one's ever thought of doing this crossover before... I know that _technically_ the Road Rovers are supposed to have become the pets of their countries' leaders, but, especially with elections in the United States, leaders can change, which would alter the situation for the Rovers... but, if they were the pets of the Nations themselves... I mean, look at how Hunter acts and then watch Hetalia and look at America...

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from "Hetalia - Axis Powers", "Road Rovers" or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Pack It In"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0O0o-

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><p>Bruno wiggled under the fence and into the compound, this was the kind of thing that the pit bull enjoyed - taking care of his Nation and helping them out, even if it just involved spying on the other Nations while they were having a meeting. Shaking himself to get the dirt out of his fur, Bruno looked around, sniffing. Other Nations besides The Confederacy had canine partners too - neither Bruno nor his Nation considered him a 'pet' - and they sometimes brought them along to these meetings and it wouldn't do to have any of them alert their Nations to his being there before he was even in the compound good. The scents in the air told the pit bull that Russia had brought that Siberian husky of his - he liked those two, sometimes; they liked their tea almost as much as Bruno's own Nation. He'd never understand their fondness for cold weather, though. Bruno took another sniff of the air and made a sound of distaste; Germany's doberman was there too - just like his Nation, 'Blitz' was bossy and arrogant, expecting everyone to do whatever he said, but didn't last too long against strong resistance - as was the sheepdog of Switzerland, who was one weird dog, especially with his habit of hiding things like whole sandwiches in his fur for later. A third sniff brought a particularly pleasing scent to the pit bull - Colleen was there too, it seemed. England's collie was beautiful and dangerous, the Confederate pit bull's favorite combination. Unfortunately for Bruno, if there was any dog she was close to, it was Hunter and...<p>

Bruno growled, that dumb-dog pet of America's scent was mixed with Colleen's. Why did all the girl dogs go for that tennis-ball-obsessed golden retriever? He was just as bad about that stupid 'hero' stuff as his Nation was, so why was it everyone liked him? Sure, pit bulls like him had a reputation, but that was the humans' doing - they were nanny-dogs, bred and trained to watch over and protect long before humans started abusing them and using them in dog-fights - but nobody ever bothered to remember that. They just remembered that pit bulls were used in dog-fighting and decided that made them bad dogs. But his Nation understood, The Confederacy did. They were the same, after all; branded and colored by what others had said and done regarding them. It wasn't any wonder, really, that their dogs got along about as well as America and The Confederacy, which wasn't much at all. Maybe before he was done today, Bruno thought, he'd make off with that stupid ball of Hunter's, have just a small victory for his Nation. Yeah, that was an idea.

At least that Taco Bell dog of Mexico's didn't seem to be there, anyway...


	3. Shanshu : April 9, 1865

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 9 April.

The Confederacy waits for the stroke of the pen that will mean his demise.

Factual note; the Appomattox Court House referred to herein is the 'old' Appomattox Court House, now known as Appomattox Court House National Historic Park, approximately three miles east of Appomattox, Virginia, where the 'new' Appomattox Court House is located.

Disclaimer: Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Shanshu"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0O0o-

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><p>Shanshu - from "Angel: The Series", a word with two meanings that at first seem to be mutually contradictory, 'to live' and 'to die', but are actually merely two halves of a single concept; 'Live to die, die to live.'<p>

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><p>-o0o-<p>

April 9, 1865  
>Appomattox Court House,<br>Virginia, Confederate States of America

Over the last four years, John Sutherland had seen a lot of men die; some of them had went quickly with expressions of shock on their faces as though they couldn't believe it was happening, others had died slowly, screaming, weeping in pain. A lot of them had been his men, his people, but just as many had been his brother's, in both cases they were still Americans, the only difference being the choice they made when it came to the states and the people or the Union and the government. They were all Americans and by the grace of God Almighty, they would all find a home in American soil for time eternal. They were the lucky ones. John wouldn't be so blessed, because he was the living embodiment of the Confederate States of America as a Nation, and Nations that died didn't leave bodies to be buried, they just faded away... and before long, so would he. All with the stroke of a pen.

The Union called it a 'civil war', trying to make it seem like simple internal problems, conviently ignoring the fact that the seccessionist states had became a new country when their representatives had signed the Constitution of the Confederate States of America, which had also been the moment that John had come into existance as their Nation, and that any conflict between them was no different than when the united colonies and their Nation had fought England. To the Confederates, it was 'The War of Southern Independence' or even 'The War Between The States', meaning the Confederate States and the United States, because calling it a 'civil war' would be the same as denying their own freedom and status as an independent country. John shook his head sadly, considering how hypocritical the Union government and their Nation could be, calling the Confederates the same things and treating them the same way that England's redcoats had done America's people not even a century before.

'Good God, Merciful Father,' John prayed in his head, 'If they'd do such things during the war, what might they do now? Oh, Lord, protect my people when I no longer can, I beg you...'

The soldiers nearby, both Union and Confederate, had the decency to pretend not to see the man with his grey kepi hat in his hands and his face turned towards Heaven as he made his silent appeal to the Lord of Hosts. John had been fighting back tears since he had arrived at Appomattox Court House, but when he felt the first pain, he couldn't hold back any longer and with a gasp he dropped to his knees and began to cry as the pain continued, fading and growing in time with the scratches of the pen on the surrender documents. As the pen finished the final stroke and left the page, John fell forward, twisting and landing on his side, his kepi hat landing next to him as he blacked out.

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

April 10, 1865

John woke with a gasp and tried to sit up, only for a firm hand to keep him from rising.

"Rest, brother, regain your strength. They must not find us until you have," John recognized the voice of his adoptive brother, Degataga, the Nation of the Cherokee people.

"Where are we?"

"We now rest at the old Council Grounds, brother," the Cherokee Nation answered, "In the lands of my people's ancestors."

John turned his head from side to side, taking in the dark night beyond the illumination of the campfire, "I should be with your people's ancestors, my friend, how am I still here?"

"That'd be our doing, Sutherland," a new voice added from the other side of the campfire, scooting over on the ground so that John could see a figure wearing Confederate gray sitting there, "The war maybe be over, but the fight's sure not, especially not since Washington is refusing to let our states back into Congress until the Northern ones say-so."

"But, a Nation..."

A second figure in Confederate gray stood up and walked over to kneel down next to John, "...Lives in the hearts and minds of its people. Just because the Confederates and the government had to surrender don't mean we've given up on the ideals of the Confederacy."

"We got you away from Appomattox real quick before they could do anything," the first Confederate jumped in, "Told 'em we were gonna be giving you 'a decent burial'. They were so sure of themselves they didn't even bother to check and make sure you were dead."

"And as the Confederacy lives in the hearts of men," Degataga put his hand on John's chest over the Nation's own 'heart', "The Confederate Nation lives in the world of men."

"We'll tell the North what they want to hear," the second Confederate added, "And they'll help us rebuild. We'll restore our land and you'll get stronger along with it. Some people believe that the Union's victory proves the need for 'a strong centralized government'... sooner or later, we all know that's going to turn into tyranny, it always does when a government starts putting itself before the people..."

"We'll all be needing you then, John," the first Confederate nodded, "Not just us Southern boys, but even the Yankees too. We'll all be needing someone to rally 'round and to lead us when that time comes, so you just worry 'bout getting stronger so that when time comes America needs it to, the South can rise again."

"...Rise again..." John repeated the words, closing his eyes with a smile to rest and heal, just like his people were.

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

Author's Note; In case anyone is curious, the two Confederates represent, in a way, the two sides of the South; the first is the backwoodsman, the proverbial 'country boy' that lives off the land and doesn't have time for social niceties, while the second is the 'Southern Gentleman', well-spoken and well-mannered.


	4. Battlecry

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 10 May.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Battlecry"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

It was terrifying. That sound, that awful sound, it tore at his soul each time he heard it. It echoed over shot and shell, over the screams of the wounded and dying, over every battlefield. He had seen men flee with their spirits broken by _that yell_ before the first shots of a battle had been fired.

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><p>-o0o-<p>

Hundreds of yards away, on the other side of the battlefield, a man wearing Confederate grey and a distinctive pair of glasses looked up and down the battleline.

"Alright, boys, when the Generals give the order, we charge straight down their throats and give them the Yell while we're doing it. God-willing, they'll break and run so fast for Washington and Philadelph-i-ay that we'll never even see their backs... But they're still Americans, so we can expect plenty of them to stand and fight, like it or not. We'd do the same, we can't expect any less from them. Put 'em down hard and fast and maybe by-God the faster we can win these battles, the faster we'll win the war and we can all go back home to more important things."

* * *

><p>-o0o-<p>

On the Union side of the field, a man who could've been - and technically was - the speaker's twin but for the blue uniform of the United States Army he wore patted a younger man, still a boy almost, on the shoulder.

"There's nothing to worry about, son, nothing to fear from that undisciplined rabble."

Then a sharp 'Wee-yoo!' cut through the foggy morning, echoed a hundred times over by hundreds of different voices and followed by the pounding of feet in a charge, causing the boy to look in the direction it had came from and jerk himself free from the man's hand.

"Forget that, Mister Jones, sir, you might not have nothing to fear, but I'm getting out of here!"

Alfred F. Jones didn't have a chance to try and stop the boy or anyone else from running, he had to grab his 1860 Henry and prepare to recieve the charge.

"Dirty Rebels," Jones swore under his breath, "Damn them and damn their Yell!"


	5. Green And Gray

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 22 July.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

Rated T for language.

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Green And Gray"

By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'

-o0O0o-

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><p>"So, Colleen, how goes the world of the Recognised?" John Revelin Sutherland asked his guest as he placed two glasses and a bottle down on the table on the porch of his house and then sat down across from her, "Last I talked to Peter, he said something about you, Arthur and an exploding car...?"<p>

"Arthur's still trying to claim that _my_ house was built on _his_ land," Colleen McCool fumed, "Feckin' bastard keeps trying to change my own damn locks on me, can you believe that?"

"Still, did you have to blow up his car?" John asked, "Couldn't you have just slashed his tires, potato'd his exhaust and put sugar in the gas tank like a normal person?"

Colleen blushed slightly, "I was a bit emotional at the time."

John looked at his fellow Nation knowingly, "I'm sure."

The redhead's blush turned from an embarrassed pink to angry crimson, "Not like that, ya bastard!"

"Now that's not very ladylike," John teased.

"Aw," Colleen muttered something in her native Celtic, then added in English, "...and take your 'ladylike' with you when you go."

"Ladies don't swear and they don't drink," John commented, pouring from the bottle into the glasses and pushing one of them over to the Irish Nation, "So, two for two?"

Colleen picked up the glass and looked at the liquid it contained, "This isn't some of that Yankee piss-water is it?"

"Tennessee sippin' whisky," John answered with narrowed eyes, "And I'm going to ignore that 'Yankee' remark, Colleen, because we're old friends. But don't you ever use that word at this house again... 'leastwise not without putting 'damn' in front of it."

"Damn Yankee, right," Colleen lowered her glass of whisky, "Think I can remember that one. Speaking o'remembering things, do you remember that old joke about how Alfred's beer is like making love in a canoe..."

"I do at that," John chuckled, the next word lost in the sound of his amusement.

"...close to water!" They finished together before breaking out into gales of laughter.

"Down the hatch, boyo," Colleen announced, lifting her glass again.

"Down the hatch, Miss Colleen," John agreed, getting a dirty look for his term of address before the two of them brought their glasses to their lips and drank the whisky.


	6. United : September 11, 2001

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 11 September.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"United"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0O0o-

"Lord knows I am peaceful when I'm left alone; I've always been an eagle, it's been a while since I have flown; my claws are sharp as ever and so's my eagle eye; something's going to go to ground when the eagle flies.

Lately I've heard rumors that the eagle may be lame; just because I've been idle don't mean that I'm tame; you've jeoprodized my freedom, my natural place to roost; I can fly when I have to, you've turned the eagle loose." - 'The Eagle', Waylon Jennings.

-o0O0o-

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><p>Manhattan Island, New York City,<br>United States of America...  
>September 11, 2001<p>

He was sad and angry and even a little frightened all at once; but most importantly, Alfred F. Jones was in pain. It was worse than anything he had ever felt before, worse than after Pearl Harbor and even during the Civil War. It was the kind of pain that was beyond description. But there was nothing that could be done to stop the pain, so he focused on it and he dug, moving piece after piece of rubble, side by side with the first responders and the civilians who had joined in as they all searched for survivors. Alfred had no idea how long he had been searching, all he knew for sure was that the more the pain hurt, the harder he searched and the clouds of dust in the sky kept the sun from being used to judge the passage of time. Other searchers had come and gone and been replaced by more people, but Alfred hadn't stopped searching since he had reached the ruins, minutes after that horrible sight and sound of the Twin Towers coming down, slowed only by the other Americans with the same goal; get there and help however they could.

Alfred didn't know what made him look up when he reached for one end of the steel I-beam, but he did and his eyes widened at the sight of the person that was taking hold of the other end. John R. Sutherland didn't look in much better shape than his 'brother' and fellow Nation, hair matted to his forehead by sweat and a fire in his eyes that Alfred had last seen from the other side of a battlefield.

"Don't just stand there, Billy," John snapped, his customary Southern manners drowned out by his emotions, "Lift, you damned fool."

The demand spurred Alfred to action and the two Americas lifted the steel beam, growling with the exertion as they raised it to chest level and then tossed it off to the side, moving on to the concrete rubble that had been beneath it.

"What are you doing here?" Alfred asked shortly.

"Somebody attacked my brother," John retorted, "Where the Hell do you think I'd be, Billy? You and me, that's nobody's business but ours, but when somebody from the outside starts something, you really think I'd be letting them get away with it?"

"You tried to get Arthur and Francis to help you during the Civil War," Alfred reminded him.

"Like you getting France and Prussia to help you fight England was any different," John shot back, "And it was the War of Southern Independence, get it right."

"I won it, it gets my name," Alfred countered.

"Then you need to damn well stop calling the Battles of Manassas Creek by the wrong name since _I_ won those," John answered, then paused, "And right now, whatever little pissant is behind this is celebrating _their_ victory..."

"Not for long," Alfred swore, "Once I'm sure my people are safe, I'm going after them... they wanted a fight, well now they've got one..."

"Two," John corrected, "Like I said, they attacked you, makes it my business too..."

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"We're from north California and south Alabam'; and all they've done is unite this whole land; there's no more Yankees and Rebels this time; but one united people who'll stand behind; American can survive, America will survive..." - 'America Will Survive', Hank Williams Jr.


	7. Look Away

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 24 November. Gah, me and Inspiration did not seem on speaking terms today...

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

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><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Look Away"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0O0o-

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><p>It was depressing, John R. Sutherland realised, to see so many men he had known for years, men whose hearts he thought he had known, doff their hats to him as a Nation and to his Country one last time as they crossed the borders of the Confederacy and pass beyond his awareness. The next time he would see many, if not most, of them would be on the field of battle. As tragic as it was, they had to do what they thought was right, just like he and his people would do. John turned his head and looked away to hide the tears that threatened to appear; it wouldn't do for his people to see their Nation crying. How many of those leaving for the Union he would never see again, John couldn't know, just as he couldn't know how many of those who stayed would give their new Country their last full measure of devotion in hopes to see it through its birth throes. Silently, he cursed the Union and Alfred F. Jones for trying to deny the Confederacy the very thing that they had fought Arthur and England for all those years ago and John wished it would rain so that he would have an honorable excuse for the water on his face, because it wasn't seemly for a gentleman to cry; even when that gentleman was a Nation.<p> 


	8. A Taste Of Music

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 28 November.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely.

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"A Taste of Music  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0O0o-

* * *

><p>"Wow, you sure got a lot of different kinds of music," Peter, nominally Peter Kirkland, the unrecognised Nation of Sealand, remarked in awe.<p>

John Sutherland smiled, "Yeah, I do."

"Do you actually listen to all of these?" Peter asked - he liked spending time around the other 'unrecognized' Nation. Most of the world's Nations refused to even acknowledge him, even his nominal older brothers like Arthur, but John was always willing to spend time and talk with him, telling Peter that it was the gentlemanly thing to do, especially as the older Nation knew how it felt as he was no longer acknowledged by most Nations after 'The War Between The States' ended with his country's defeat.

"Every album in my collection I've listened to at some point," John answered, "Sometimes I was even fortunate enough to see the performers in concert."

"Why do you have so many, though?"

John ruffled the younger Nation's hair, "All this music is a part of me, Peter; New Orleans jazz, Memphis rock, Atlanta gospel, country from Nashville and Lubbock and Muscogee..."

Peter took another look at the shelves of records, cassettes, CDs, even 8-Track tapes with his mouth hanging open, "I never knew..."

"With Los Angeles," John snorted impolitely at the name of the Californian city, "such a big name in the music industry and everyone thinking that they have to move out there to make it big in music, most people don't know about any of those... They've even forgotten the 'Long Island' sound from New York, Chicago blues and Detroit motown. That's part of why Nations like us exist, Peter, so that someone will always remember, even when everyone else forgets, what makes a country the country it is..."

Peter looked at John with wide eyes, "Do you think _I'll_ ever have a music like that?"

John got a mischievous grin on his face, "You know what, Sealand's a manufacted island... built by Englanders and that's why Arthur ignores you, right?"

"Ye-yeah?" Peter stammered, not sure where the Confederate Nation was going with this.

"Arthur thinks he's such a great pirate and naval person, what do you say we raid his house and steal you a few of his old sea shanties to get you started, huh?"

"Yeah! Let's do it!" Peter cheered, punching the air - he was going to get his own music.


	9. Christmas In Dixie

Author's Note: The 365 Project is an experimental _multi-fandom_ project to write and post at least one short every day for the next year, not including my semi-regular bi-weekly updates. For more details, see the relevent section in my profile. This is The 365 Project, 25 December.

In the immortal words of Samuel L. Clemens... "Persons attempting to find a motive in this narrative will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to find a plot in it will be shot. BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR."

Disclaimer; I don't own or make money from Hetalia or any characters thereof, using them without permission for entertainment purposes solely. "Christmas In Dixie" is the property of Alabama - enough said.

* * *

><p>-o0O0o-<p>

"Christmas In Dixie"  
>By J.T. Magnus, 'Turbo'<p>

-o0O0o-

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><p>While most of the States of the United States were entertaining themselves with their new gifts and Alfred's antics, some of them had quietly slipped away from their Nation's house to keep another appointment. Contrary to what many thought across the world, these States considered their loyalty to another country as alive and strong as that they held to the United States and they had no intention of leaving that Nation alone on a day for family...<p>

-o0o-

A knocking on his door drew John R. Sutherland's attention from the tumbler of whisky he was sipping as he read a favorite anthology; 'Dixie Victorious' edited by Peter G. Tsouras. With a sigh, he sat both book and drink on his sidetable as he stood from his chair to the sound of further knocking.

"Coming!" John called out gruffly as he crossed his library towards the double doors that led to the rest of the house, adding under his breath, "Probably carolers again..."

When the Confederate States' Nation opened the doors and stepped into the hall, he head the knocking again.

"I'm coming!" John snapped loudly as he walked down the hall towards his front door, "For Dixie's sake..."

When he reached the front door, John didn't even wait until he had it fully opened before he spoke, "Alright, what do you-"

"Merry Christmas!" Fifteen States chorused, cutting the Nation off mid-sentence.

John looked out over the faces gathered on his front porch, "What are you all doing here?"

"Saving you from a hum-bug Christmas with your nose buried in a book," Virginia called out, her name and that of the state she represented being the same had caused her to be the target of a few cutting remarks from the other States over the years.

"What Ms. 'Sic Semper Tyrannis' over there is trying to say," Sam, the State of Texas, remarked as he tipped back his Stetson with a sprig of mistletoe stuck in the hatband, "Is that Christmas is for families and no matter what some papers say, you're part of our family still whether you like it or not, Johnny Reb."

"Which means you can either step back and let us come in or we'll just have Sammy pick you up and carry you so we can come in anyway," Shana added in her Georgia belle drawl.

"With all due respect," the Texan State - who had also served as the Nation for the Republic of Texas from 1836 to 1845 - nodded to the Confederate Nation, "I'll do it, too."

Shaking his head, John took a step back and watched the States file past him, waiting until he saw Davy of Tennessee to put his hand out and stop the other personification.

"Whatever gifts the others brought," John told him as the remaining States walked past them, "Yours better be from Lynchburg, you know that, right?"

Davy smiled, "Don't I always bring the good stuff? I think Ryder even brought some of her favorite bourbon for that matter."

"Thank God for that," John's eyes went Heavenward for a moment as he spoke.

Davy slapped him on the back, "And for the man who figured out that more could be done with wheat than just making bread."

"Amen," John agreed, "Come on, we'd best catch up with those others before they destroy my house."

-o0o-

Remy looked at a set of dust-covered objects in the corner of John's library with a smirk, "So, you still have those, eh, homme?"

John frowned at him, "You know I don't usually throw anything away if it means something, why do you sound so surprised?"

"Surprised, non," The State of Lousiana replied, "But pleased. After all, what Christmas be without a little music, hm?"

Davy walked over to where Remy was looking and removed one of the dust covers to reveal a guitar, which he picked up and plucked a quick chord on, "Hey, Sam, think you can get a little 'Austin City Limits' going?"

Sam joined the Volunteer State to uncover and pick up another guitar, retorting, "Think you can make up your mind between Memphis and Nashville, then?"

"Behave, y'all two," Randy remarked as he uncovered and took a place at a set of drums, "Remember the Reason and all."

"At least he no talkin' 'bout no 'Thistlehair' this year, hm?" Remy remarked as he picked up a horn that was laying on a shelf as he walked over to join the group.

The State of Alabama rolled his eyes without replying, instead he began to tap a drumstick against drum to set the beat as the others started playing.

"By now in New York City, there's snow on the ground," Sam started singing, "And out in California, the sunshine's falling down."

"Maybe down in Memphis," Davy picked up, "Graceland's all in lights... and in Atlanta, Georgia, there's peace on Earth tonight."

Across the room, Shana raised her glass of eggnog in acknowledgement of her state being mentioned.

"Christmas in Dixie," the four States performing sang together, "It's snowing in the pines. Merry Christmas from Dixie, to everyone, tonight."

"It windy in Chicago, and de kids be out of school," Remy sang in his Cajun voice, "Dere's magic in Motown, de city's on de move..."

"In Jackson, Mississippi, to Charlotte, Caroline," Randy nodded at Marie and Ashleigh when he spoke of Mississippi and North Carolina, "And all across the nation, it's the peaceful Christmas time!"

"Christmas in Dixie!" This time, all the States joined in to sing the chorus, "It's snowing in the pines. Merry Christmas from Dixie, to everyone, tonight."

"Merry Christmas," John added, "Tonight..."

And all the States and the Nation present let out a loud cheer.


End file.
